


The Belmont Mantras

by Baknami



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Belmont Ancestors Murdering Night Creatures, Gen, lots of blood, minor worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 16:12:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16579826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baknami/pseuds/Baknami
Summary: Trevor's ancestors go on a hunting excursion to destroy a coven of humans attempting to summon demons.  Everything goes by the book until they find a young child, perhaps meant as a sacrifice to the creatures they were summoning.





	The Belmont Mantras

**Author's Note:**

> This was mostly done because there was some world building I wanted to do. Hope some people enjoy it!

The coven of demon-worshiping fools was caught completely by surprise. They had been preparing a ritual to summon a powerful demon from the darkest pits of Hell, and it was on the night of the full moon that they had gathered together for the ritual. Unfortunately for them, that was also the time they were all together instead of hiding in their various lairs, and the Belmont Clan was waiting for just such an occasion. It was much easier to kill the entire coven in one fell swoop than run around the countryside, rooting them out one by one.

Francis Belmont broke into the hovel that the coven had begun their ritual in, all fire and brimstone in his very appearance. He drew his sword from its sheath, ignoring the Morningstar at his side, whereupon he let out a guttural roar, charging forward, eyes burning with the fires of justice. He had descended upon them so quickly that most of the coven could only howl in surprise and terror, but a couple were experienced enough in combat to leap up in reply, daggers at the ready.

They didn't stand a chance; Francis jammed his sword through one of the cultist's sternum, and he drew his own dagger in his offhand, slicing through another's throat. He didn't even flinch as his face was splattered with blood that spewed from his opponent's neck.

As Francis drew his sword back out of the other cultist, the others began standing, drawing their own weapons. “A Belmont!” the leader proclaimed loudly, pointing at the crest on the man's doublet. “Do not fear, there are ten of us! He cannot possibly defeat us all, charge him!”

Francis didn't respond verbally, but he spun his sword in his hand and thrust forward, leaving himself wide open on his left flank. He sliced through a man's belly with a flick of his wrist, effectively disemboweling him. The man fell to the floor, clutching at his entrails and screaming as two others leaped forward, knives drawn.

There was a pained screech, and one of them dropped his weapon, his bloodied hand torn at the ligaments. The Vampire Killer whipped back, and a young woman snapped it in her hands with an authoritative stance. Rosalie Belmont, Francis Belmont's firstborn daughter, prepared herself for her first real foray into the family hunting business, and she released the whip once again, the Vampire Killer slicing through the air with a whistling whine before cracking a man's skull straight through. A spray of blood, bone and brains flew in an arc through the air, following the movement of the whip, and Francis's second attacker crumpled to the floor, his broken skull slamming so hard into the ground that the rest of it exploded in a mass of gore.

Francis didn't even give the rest of the cultists a chance to consider what the hell just happened, as he immediately twirled his sword with a flourish, sliding it expertly through another cultist's mouth, up through his soft palette, and into his brain. The sword jutted from his head, red with blood as if a banner of conquest.

The rest of the coven fell over themselves as morale instantly broke at the sight of half of their number slain less than a minute. “Fuckin' hell!” one of them cried, shoving himself towards the back rooms.

“I didn't sign up for this!” another sobbed as she trampled one of the corpses to get away.

“The fuck's goin' on!?” A voice from the back called as the confusion escalated with the screams.

“Norbert, where are you!?” A woman, this time.

The cult leader couldn't possibly calm any of them down in time to use them as human shields, so instead he tried one last gambit. There was a reason the people had followed him in the first place, and that reason was that he was able to pretend he was an oracle by using his magic to create “miracles”. He drew his hands together, and with a quick chant, the entire room instantly became awash with an inferno.

Francis leaped backward, rolling along the floor to put out the fire that clung to him as Rosalie joined him in the corner of the room. The elder Belmont lifted his cape, made of Firedrake leather to defend from heat, and he covered both himself and his daughter from the fiery magic. Rosalie was about to thank her father, but she paused, mouth agape, as she realized that the man was setting the _entire room_ on fire, and her stomach twisted in rage and disgust as the last of the cultists yelled in pain and rolled desperately on the floor. “He's killing his own underlings!” Rosalie gasped in disbelief, just before coughing from the smoke and fire.

“Stay down!” Francis barked, and Rosalie hunkered under her father's mantle, took out a handkerchief, and shoved it over her mouth. The elder Belmont had seen things like this before: many demon-worshiping cult leaders seemed to think it best to burn down the entire place and rebuild a coven on their own rather than risk being killed. His frown creased further, his rage at the coven leader increasing, and he jumped up suddenly, his Morningstar unwound and flying true. The cultists were human, and thus a consecrated weapon was just that, but the tip was still a giant hunk of silver and steel, and a direct hit to the wizard's temple sent him flying backwards, blood gushing from his nose and mouth, and he fell to the floor with a thud, unmoving.

Rosalie stayed close to the floor, hacking some more, but before she could move, her father snatched her arm and dragged her to the door. The two of them rolled outside of the hovel, which wasn't much more than a few stones with a thatched roof. There was no way they'd be able to put out the fire at that point, especially since the cult leader was too busy being, well, _dead_.

Rosalie wasn't thinking about the leader, however, and she tugged on her arm. “Father, wait!” She turned back to Francis and pointed back at the hut. “We can't leave them! Some of them may still be alive!” Wasn't their job to protect humanity!? How could they abandon people in need?

Francis didn't reply, and he kept his expression stoic and held his daughter fast until the hovel was so engulfed in flames that even she was not foolish enough to try to be a hero, no matter her compassion. Finally, wordlessly, he released her, whereupon Rosalie dropped to the dirt in honest disbelief, looking up at her father with tears forming in her eyes, both from the smoke and her grief. “...They might have lived. We could have saved them...”

“They were _beyond_ saving,” Francis insisted, tying the Morningstar back to his hip. “Anyone who would follow such a madman who sacrifices his own pawns is not even worthy to walk this earth.” He watched as the hut continued to burn, but he tensed when he heard his daughter whimper. He looked down to see Rosalie mourning their loss, like a quiet, simple child. With a sigh, he dropped to one knee and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Remember, to give these people any bit of kindness will just get us killed. You must fight your compassion when dealing with creatures of the night.” He said it softly, gently, as if he were simply tucking her into bed when she was a child. “I have always loved your compassionate nature, but when we engage the enemy, you _must_ fight those instincts...!”

Rosalie did not reply, even after Francis released her, and together, the two watched as the fires danced up into the night sky. Her stomach twisted itself into knots as she fought the compassion that welled up for the people, their families, their lives. One of them even called out for Norbert in her final moments. Was it the name of a loved one?

...No! Father was right: they were _monsters_. They attacked the both of them, and were planning to summon a demon, the runes inscribed in the wood of the hut proved it. She shouldn't have pity or remorse for people who cared only to gain from the powers of Hell-

Her head snapped up, for even over the roaring flames, she could make out the sound of a weeping child. Was it a sacrifice to the demon they had been hoping to summon? Francis heard it as well, though only after noticing his daughter's movements, but it was Rosalie who moved first, rushing around the side of the hut with the determination to save anyone that she could.

When Rosalie found the child, he was already blackened and covered in soot. He was writhing on the floor, hacking and coughing, and it seemed like the smoke had blinded the young boy. He must have climbed out of the back room's window to escape the flames; it was a miracle he got out with only a few minor burns. Oh, thank the Lord he hadn't been sent up in flames like the other cultists!

“Mommy, Mommy!” the boy cried out, his throat hoarse from the smoke and his screams. He scrubbed at his useless eyes, blinded by soot and sand, and he fell into the dirt again as he tumbled around like a newborn babe. “Mommy, where are you!?”

Oh God, this was Norbert! This must have been the person the cultist was calling for! She moved forward to comfort the child, but Francis was there, halting her once again with a hand on her shoulder.

He dropped down to his knee and whispered lowly. “Rosa, look,” he said gruffly, pointing at the blackened child. The younger Belmont froze, and she squinted at the boy. Her blood ran cold, despite the fire raging near them, when she noticed Norbert's pointed ears. The boy wasn't a sacrifice they had been hoping to use to summon the demon, this was an honest to goodness dhampir! Most likely the son of one of the various cultists they had just slain. It was incredible; she had never seen one before!

Rosalie's heart stilled a second when she heard her father draw his sword, and she reached up suddenly to grasp his coat with a hushed hiss, “Father, no! He's a child!” To kill cultists who had chosen to follow evil was one thing. To stop vampires from killing humans and draining their life force was God's work, but to slaughter an innocent babe, who had no strength to protect himself!? “How could you even consider-”

Francis whirled to look her in the eye so quickly that she nearly toppled over in fright, and his wild, wide eyes bored into her own. “Tell that to the _child_ who killed your uncle, the one he attempted to save! The one that he claimed deserved the right to _choose_ to be 'good'!”

...Rosalie stared, slack-jawed, at her father, until she slowly released his coat. Her father rarely spoke about Bernard Belmont, his brother and  _her_ uncle, so the moment that Francis brought up the severity of the situation, she recalled everything that she was ever taught as a Belmont.

Francis stood, and Rosalie clutched at the Vampire Killer, forcing herself to remember the mantras above all. Norbert, the small dhampir, continued to weep in the dust, crawling in the dirt in a vain attempt to locate some water. His sobs caught in his throat, for his throat had become coated in ash, and his lungs were filled with smoke. Rosalie wanted to look away, to say something, to say _no_ , but she couldn't tear her wide eyes away. Her lips moved on their own as she silently repeated the Belmont Mantras she had been taught since birth. “All monsters, vampires, and creatures of the night are nothing; they are the enemies of humanity; they will never be anything _but_.”

She winced when Francis kicked the dhampir in the side, sending him sprawling on his back. His tears had finally washed some of the ash from his eyes, and he managed to open his eyes just enough to see his attacker. “Guh!” he coughed, raising his arms, palms up, in a desperate plea for his life. “Aulp!”

Francis didn't even glare or frown at the thing, for it didn't even deserve his disdain; he simply lifted his boot and slammed it down on the creature's ribcage, and the tiny, frail body crumpled in on itself. Blood spewed from the chest cavity like a sponge filled to the brim and then squeezed, and Rosalie swallowed the bile in her throat. She closed her eyes and  _willed_ herself to believe that the disgust she felt was because of the horrid smell the monster left behind.

When her father returned to her side and helped her stand, he looked her in the eye and nodded. “You see now how you must react to such things. You cannot give yourself an opening, ever. To do so would invite death, just like Bernard.”

Bernard Belmont, the bleeding heart, her grandfather called him. The fool who allowed a young dhampir to rip out his throat because he had gotten too close, hoping to extend the hand of peace. The one Belmont foolish enough to think that perhaps there was some humanity left in a half-vampire. Her mouth was dry, and she could barely swallow her own saliva to wet her throat. The dhampir's death knell was still fresh in her mind, and she forced herself not to feel pity for the foul creature, to become as emotionless and resolute as the rest of her clan. “I won't make the same mistake, Father.”

Francis nodded, his expression as steely as his sword. “See to it that you don't.” He nodded firmly at his daughter before he turned and shuffled over to collect the thing's head. Finally, Rosalie tore her eyes away from the bloody bag of flesh and bones, and she stared up at the night sky, the stars blotted out by the smoke of the fire.

She would never forget that day, as long as she lived.

* * *

 

“How old was this one?”

Rosalie Belmont, older and wiser than most of her other family members, snorted awake from 'resting her eyes' in a chair in the Belmont hold. She had been tasked with taking care of the children while her own daughter and husband were out on another hunting excursion. Her little grandson, Trevor, had been looking at all of the artifacts that her ancestors, and even she and her father, had collected over the years, but he was most interested in the skulls of the vampires that they had killed over the decades. He turned to smile at his grandmother, his eyes wide and inquisitive.

“I told you, Trevor dear, vampires are immortal. They _don't_ age, not like us. It's another reason that you can see just how inhuman they are.” How much the people needed the Belmonts to stake them all.

“But what about _him_?” Trevor asked, staring at the glass case that contained the tiny skull of the little dhampir that her father and she had encountered that fateful day so long ago. “It looks so small. He was probably my age. ...What happened to him?”

“ _It_ was a monster, and that's all you need to know,” Rosalie replied, willing herself not to close her eyes again, and she focused on the skull behind the glass pane, her eyebrows knitting as she remembered that night. The screams of the dying boy, the flames that licked at the hut, the heat that threatened to catch her own hair aflame... “To give a vampire, even a half-vampire, an opening is to betray your family, your blood. And you will die.”

Trevor gave his grandmother a serious nod, but he looked back at the tiny skull, no bigger than his own. “I won't forget, Gramma Rosa.”

Rosalie's eyes closed, and she went back to rocking herself to sleep. “See to it that you don't,” she murmured.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, baby vampire skull that Alucard found in the Belmont Hold really stuck with me, as a person who loves children and wants to cuddle them all forever. Plus, I remember having a D&D character who was basically the son of a demon; he was saved by a Paladin of Freedom, who refused to kill the boy because he should be allowed to grow up with the freedom to *choose* good or evil. I wondered what would happen if that "Freedom Paladin" was instead murdered, and helped usher in more hatred for "evil" creatures like Alucard and other dhampir.
> 
> The names were basically taken from French names because Belmont (hell, Francis is basically "HEY LOOK I'M A FRENCHIE"), but I liked that I could shorten Rosalie's name to "Rosa", because of a character I know from another game who was a healer and compassionate woman.
> 
> Norbert was me trying to find something so utterly pathetic and weak that *no one* would think he could ever be a threat. RIP little guy, perhaps someday everyone can be friends.
> 
> (Yeah right not as long as this shit keeps getting Konami money amirite or amirite?)


End file.
